Late, Late in the Evening

'Foight you for et!'

'You don't think I carry it about with me, do you? My uncle is minding it for me. You can fight him for it, if you like.' We strolled on. As we turned the corner I glanced back.

'O.K. They've gone into their house,' I said. As we came out of Mother Honour's we saw Mr Ward come out of the hermit's cottage. Kenneth pulled me back inside the shop, so Mr Ward did not see us. As we watched from the doorway, he took the road which led to the pub.

'So that's who it was in there,' I said. 'I thought as much. Good thing we didn't go in.'

'Let's see what he's been up to,' said Kenneth. 'He's sure to be gone at least half an hour.'

'I'm not interested now I know it's Mr Ward. He's always digging,' I said. 'First the gladioli, then the chicken run and now this.'

'I know he's always digging,' said Kenneth. 'Come on! He wasn't carrying anything when he came out, so he can't have found the treasure.' I think my brother had convinced himself by this time that treasure had been hidden in the cottage. I was not equally convinced. I was two years older than Kenneth. Besides, I was very much afraid of Mr Ward. I thought he was slightly mad and I wanted nothing to do with him or his affairs. 'We've nothing to dig with,' I said feebly.

'Don't be daft! His spade and things will be in there, won't they?'

I had no more excuses to offer. We crossed the road and sneaked in at the open doorway. Like the rest of the cottages, this one had no front hall. We found ourselves in what had been the parlour before the hermit had turned it into a pigsty. The only light came in through the doorway, for the window was filthy with grime and covered in cobwebs. The whole place stank horribly and we were very careful not to go near the walls.

Somebody ('I bet it was Mr Ward,' said Kenneth) had dug a deep, wide hole in the boardless floor. It reminded me of a grave. A spade and a pickaxe were lying on the ground near it.

'Let's get out of here,' I said.

* * *

We talked about the cottage as we walked home.

'There couldn't be treasure in a place like that,' I said.

'If there is, I bet the hermit put a curse on it,' my brother said. 'What did you make of Mr Ward's hole?'

'It could had been a grave. You don't think he's murdered somebody, do you?'

'He looks like a murderer. I call him a very sinister sort of man. I tell you what! Why don't we keep an eye on Mr Ward?-tail him, you know, like they do in the Secret Service.'

'He'd find out and complain to Aunt Kirstie or perhaps even go for us. If he is a murderer, then he must be fleeing from justice and he would be capable of anything,' I protested.

'Well, let's not actually tail him, then, but just sort of keep an eye on him. It ought to be easy enough because I've thought how we could get into that cottage garden if we really wanted to.'

'How? We can't manage that ladder. Much too heavy and if we asked Our Sarah or some others to help us carry it, we'd have to let them into the garden, too. Besides, Our Ern would sneak.'

'My plan wouldn't need anybody except you and me and that iron bar in Uncle Arthur's toolshed.'

'What's the idea, then?'

I'll show you on Monday. Some big boys at our London school did it to get into the recreation ground from the canal bank without having to go all the way round by the road.'

CHAPTER THREE

THE SHEEPWASH

I guessed what Kenneth meant to do, although I doubted whether even our combined strength could accomplish it.

'The boys you mean were bigger and tougher than us,' I said.

'Oh, we shall manage all right. It's only a question of leverage. Mr Crandon told us that with proper leverage you could turn the world upside down if only you could find somewhere else to stand while you were doing it.'

'You'd have to stand on the moon, I should think. That would be the nearest.' (This, of course, was many years before the miracle occurred and men actually did land on the moon.)

'Well, be that as it may (that's another of Mr Crandon's gags), you know what I mean, because at home we got through the gap ourselves one Saturday morning when the park-keeper wasn't about, so on Monday we'll try with Uncle Arthur's iron bar. Tomorrow I think we'll go down to the sheepwash and see if we can spot Old Sukie again,' said Kenneth.

'On a Sunday?'

'Oh, I see what you mean.' The fact that we knew perfectly well that the sheepwash was forbidden to us could be passed over on weekdays, but to sin on a Sunday was different. There was the never-to-be-forgotten occasion on which, surprisingly, Uncle Arthur had decided to take us for a walk on a Sunday morning and as we reached the outskirts of the town we found a paper-shop open. Uncle Arthur went in and bought a Sunday paper and came out with some nut-milk chocolate for us. We ate it, of course, but, although it was an almost unheard-of luxury, I cannot say I enjoyed it very much.

'Do you think we'll go to hell for eating things bought on a Sunday?' Kenneth had enquired.

'We didn't do the actual buying ourselves,' I pointed out.

'When Aunt Lally was talking about boys scrumping pears and strawberries off those people opposite and